


Glitch

by wilderwisdom



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Farscape, Firefly, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 17:48:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1194060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilderwisdom/pseuds/wilderwisdom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you get stuck in between two boxes, remember to revert to your last save quickly, or else the universe will have apoplexy, and this will happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glitch

**Author's Note:**

> This actually began as a conversation I was having with my awesome ten year old sister.
> 
> *disclaimer: for Chinese translation, I just used Google translate, because I don't know any better

**“Captain,” the Klingon’s voice boomed across the bridge. “Sensors are indicating a foreign object coming up approximately three kilometers off  our port bow.”**

**“Origin?” queried the bald man sitting in the fancy chair.**

**“Unknown, sir.” reiterated his security chief.**

**The Captain nodded sagely. “On screen, Mr. Data,” he instructed the android sitting at Ops.**

***

_“Uh…Mal…” the pilot’s voice wafted like a tinny ghost around the empty cargo bay. “You’re gonna wanna come see this.”_

_Moments later, his captain had joined him in the cockpit and both peered into the readout in consternation._

_“I believe this is the part where you tell me just what it is I’m looking at, Wash.”_

_At his controls, the pilot rubbed the back of his blonde neck and shrugged one shoulder noncommittally. “Wǒ shì nǐ nǎinai de pítiáo kè if I know, Cap’n.”_

_“Crybaby?” the browncoated man suggested._

_“That was my first thought,” the other corroborated w/ a bobbing of his head. “what with a flash like that on top, you’d think a beacon of some kind.” He adjusted the choreography of a plastic stegosaurus on the dashboard. “Only thing is, it’s not broadcasting. ‘Leastways, not on any frequency we can pick up, and I don’t rightly see the use of a quiet crybaby.”_

_“Big enough to be an escape pod,” put in the tall, dark-skinned woman leaning against the row of lockers with her arms folded._

_“Not hardly,” scoffed the big man mirroring her on the opposite wall. “Jettisoned goods?”_

_“Maybe…” the girl with a swipe of dark oil up her cheek belied her agreement with a negating headshake as she spoke. “But cargo bales don’t generally have personal grav… and this does. See?” She pointed. “Grav thrusters, all out of sync. Look how she spins like that in one spot—like she’s…stuck. Or something.”_

***

**_“Sorta…drifting.” The little grey girl mirrored her own words, mimicking the model on the strategies table; her weight steadily shifted from one foot to the other, and kept right on leaning._ **

**_No one on the command paid her very much heed. They were all arguing among themselves, as they had been for the past few hundred microts, what to do about the strange object, or whether they oughtn’t to do anything._ **

**_“Excuse me.” a light voice broke against the muted din; it wasn’t the first time it had attempted to do so._ **

**_“I still say we leave it,” insisted the black-haired woman in her oddly gravelly voice._ **

**_“And_ ** **I _say we at least see what it contains,” countered the Hynerian from within the flabby folds of his chin. “We still need the supplies, if there are any.”_**

**_“Excuse me.”_ **

**_The Seabacean woman threw up her hands. “Does no one but me pay any attention to what seems to happen whenever we let strange things onto this ship?” she demanded._ **

**_“I’m right there with ya,” interjected the sandy-haired man standing in shirtsleeves. “But what if there’s someone in there?”_ **

**_“They can fend for themselves, just like everyone else.” growled the tall, tentacled Luxan._ **

**_“Excuse me.”_ **

**_“_ ** **After _we see if they have ought of value they’d like to part with.” finished the small green thing decisively._**

**_“Excuse me!” the Pilot’s image materialized in broken lines across the interface._ **

**_“Yes, Pilot, what is it?” acknowledged the shaven priestess, until that moment holding her peace at the consol._ **

**_“Thank you, Pa’u.” he inclined his large, shelled head pointedly. “I apologize for the confusion._ ** **Moya _does confirm the presence of life, if no more than that.” Looking harassed, the Leviathan’s Pilot continued, “_ Moya _is also adamant that she hears a distress signal, and cannot be persuaded otherwise, though I can detect nothing.”_**

**_“Well, I guess that settles it.” the blue-eyed man spoke firmly, idle hands clapping together in a finalizing gesture over the assorted smirks and grumbling of his shipmates. “See if you can’t snag ‘em in the docking web, Pilot.”_ **

***

**“The object’s configurations do not match any known vessels or probes, Captain.” the pale-eyed android confirmed. “Sensors cannot penetrate far enough to present any further information than visual. However, this area is saturated with a much higher level of Huon particles than normal, though it is impossible to determine if that is related to the object or simply to locale.”**

**The captain once again glanced around him for advice.**

**The black-eyed woman perched at his side shook her head in its mass of dark curls in a helpless sort of way. “I _am_ sensing _something_ from it, Captain, but nothing cohesive.”**

**An empty cargo bay was sectioned off to contain the anomaly, but it proved impossible to get a lock on the coordinates for transport—likely due to Huon interference.**

**The captain compromised, “Very well, Mr. La Forge, get a tractor beam on it, and then we’ll tow it a ways.”**

***

_“Alright, that’s enough conjecture for one afternoon,” decided the captain finally, thumbs hooked in his suspenders. “We’ve all got things to be about.”_

_As his crew made to scramble with poise back to abandoned duties, he relented, “Mayhap whatever it is has got something worth scrapping, anyhow. Jayne,” he stopped the muscled man on his way out the door. “Why don’t you get suited up and go tie your belt around it so’s we can reel it in and get on with life?”_

_“Me?!” the man called Jayne raised an indignant protest, grumbling even as he walked off in the direction of the airlock. “You know this means I get dibs on what the Dìyù is in that damn box…”_

***

With a sickening lurch and a decidedly unpleasant crunching sound, the TARDIS came to a sudden halt.

“What?!” the twiggy man shot up from beneath the controls with an exclamation of startled consternation. “What?!” Brows knit, he feverishly twiddled dial after dial, threw lever after lever, but the becalmed state did not alter.

“Well that’s one hell of a wakeup call.” The woman called Donna Noble sauntered into the control room a minute later, tightening her ponytail with a yawn. “What’d you do, hit a dog?”

“I certainly hope not.” The Doctor muttered into his pinstripe collar, still stroking and yanking controls to no avail.

Plopping herself into one of the battered foam chairs, his companion prodded, “Where are we, then?”

“Erm.” His lips pursed first to one side and then the other. “Between two invisible boxes.” He peered into the exterior readout, scratching the back of his neck in resignation.

“’Scuse me?” the woman’s laugh was not brooking any nonsense.

“Sometimes the ground and the wall and the sky don’t fit together properly,” he explained over his shoulder, “and you fall in. Only, the universe doesn’t like you to fall in, so you don’t; but if you’re _inside the walls_ —neither in nor out—where **_are_** you, that’s the question.” He’d brought up the external feeds: three indistinct masses appeared to be converging on them on collision vectors.

“And that means…?” the woman demanded, oblivious to their impending doom.

The Doctor was far too busy to sound sheepish. “We’ve run aground. Oh, no, no, no, no, no.” He dashed around the central console and jabbed buttons.

Reality heaved once, with a grinding rumble of protest, then again. “Doctor…” Donna gave her usual accusing shout, “Doctor, what’s happening?” The shaking lessened after a third and final jarring, only to be replaced by a droning whine and a lopsided sense of pressure.

“We seem to have become involved in an intergalactic tug-of-war.” Flicking several switches at once with juvenile rapidity, he hollered into the mouth of an ear trumpet protruding from the dash, “Hello? Hello?”

The redheaded woman squinted at the view screen. “Is that…is that a man with a lasso?” She pointed in mild disbelief.

With a whoop of triumph, the Doctor snatched the display and adjusted until each of the three splits came into something that approximated focus. “Hello, ah—Ahoy out there!”

***

***

**“Captain,” the Klingon announced, “We are receiving transmission.”**

**“On screen, Mr. Worf.”**

***

***

_“Ah, that’s better!” A tousle-haired man grinned out at them, jauntily waving. “Are you all getting this?”_

All? _Wash mouthed, shaking his head. The sudden appearance of the two strange ships had been mightily unsettling._

***

***

“Good, good.” The Doctor continued in his best lion tamer voice. “Now, with whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

They all rattled one over top the other.

“This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard, of the Federation Starship Enterprise, sir. And if I may—”

“Captain Harbatkin, aboard the—”

“Phew, steady on.” The Doctor reconfigured a few things and stepped back, beaming. “Now that we can all hear one another.”

“Thank you, sir,” put in the oddly bent over beast from the top corner of the screen. “ _Moya_ detected your distress call, and—”

“Distress call, really?” The Doctor murmured, absently patting the control panel as if it were a horse’s flank. Aloud, he went on, “Yes, thank you, you’re very kind, but if you _all_ go on trying to pull us in different directions, it’s my assumption we’ll break apart. And as we’re alive in here, you see, we’d like to avoid that. I’m sure you understand.”

Therein followed a beat of radio silence, each separate party unsure or unwilling to break off first.

“Very good, Mr…?” The bald man from his uniformed deck gave the order first, and the pressure decreased. Donna removed her hands from her ears gratefully.

“The Doctor.” The Doctor supplied helpfully, dipping briefly to check an insistently flashing readout. “That’s better! However,” he pulled a face, “the Old Girl’s still having a bit of a tantrum. If just _one_ of you would consent to a bit of a tow, I’d be much obliged. We’re supposed to be in feudal Japan right now, you see.”

“We’re still stuck?” Donna interjected in a stage whisper.

He gave a jerked nod of corroboration. “Still stuck.” She groaned, rolling her eyes; he ignored her.

“Hey there,” the gentleman in the bottom right corner raised a concern. “My man informs me he’s unable to detach himself from your hull.”

Donna blinked. “Lasso man.”

“If’n we could collect him before we go our ways, I’d appreciate it.”

The thing in the corner spoke up before the Doctor could finish puzzling out exactly how that’d happened, much less what to do about it. “If we may be so bold,” it offered, “ _Moya’s_ Cargo hold is capable of accommodating both of your vessels; it seems a rendezvous would serve both needs.”

“Thank you kindly.” The captain of lasso man’s ship tipped his clumsily sheared head graciously. “We’ll dock as soon as we’re able.”

“Yes, splendid.” interjected the bald man. “Unless it is objectionable to any party, I should like to send an away team to convene—” There was muffled squabbling in the airspace behind the thing aboard the ship called _Moya_ , though nothing could be made of it other than several voices making simultaneous and conflicting protests. “—nothing the Federation has ever encountered, you see.” he prattled on. “That is, if there are no objections, Doctor?”

“What?” The Doctor reeled back from his intent peering, still wondering bemusedly how the occupants of the different universes—universes that _could not exist_ concurrently—had managed to hijack the conversation so thoroughly. “Hm? Of course, of course.”

 


End file.
